


Behind the Curve

by GrinningJarvey



Category: Hawaii Five-0 (2010), Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Alternate Universe - BDSM, Asexual Character, Character Bashing, Consent Issues, Cuddling & Snuggling, Fluff and Angst, Sub John Sheppard, Sub Steve McGarrett, Timeline What Timeline, probably no sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-25
Updated: 2017-11-12
Packaged: 2019-01-05 05:16:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,183
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12183612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GrinningJarvey/pseuds/GrinningJarvey
Summary: John and Steve aren't getting what they need from the military anymore.  Steve is just getting settled with a new pack when John calls in a favor.  The two Spec Ops soldiers reunite and finally learn to live in a world where they don't quite fit the standard mold.*Note: Steve doesn't come in till chapter 3WARNING!!!: This 'verse's depiction of BDSM is VERY inaccurate and intrinsic parts of it are neither safe, sane, nor consensual.  This fic should NOT be used as an information source about BDSM.





	1. John

When it’s all over John stares down at his hands and tries to convince himself it wasn’t Rodney’s fault. He fails. He knows the Genii still would have shown up. Still would have killed Johnson and Ackerly. Still would have held McKay and Weir hostage. But he wonders if he could have stopped the strike force from making it through the gate if he hadn’t been so far under. If he wouldn’t have killed so many people. And knows without a doubt that he wouldn’t have had to kill anyone while he was under.

 

Atlantis has become home to John in a way that is completely unfamiliar to him. He’s not sure he can bear to lose it. So while scientists and marines rush back and forth gathering emergency supplies and delicate equipment, trying desperately to prioritize and pack away everything that can be hauled through the gate in 38 minutes, John takes a moment to check in with McKay. He knows that it’s a long shot. Rodney has never let him down before, but he’s never looked John in the eyes and flatly explained that he couldn’t help either. So when John walks into the lab he does it fully trusting Rodney. With his life. With his city. And with his people. John is completely unprepared for Rodney to reach over, entirely casual, grab the back of his neck and put him under. “I’m busy, Sheppard” McKay explains “Go play with your guns, or whatever it is you military types do.” And John has been so, so _careful._ He knows he goes under far too easily for people he trusts. Knows that half the time they don’t even mean it. That it’s his responsibility to take the distance he needs. When he stumbles out into the corridor John feels both pathetic and supremely guilty. His hand drifts to the butt of his gun _–Rodney told you to go play-_ before, with a sickening clench and lurch in his gut, he wrenches himself fully upright and forces himself to think. _–I have a job to do.-_ He tries not to wish he was back in Spec Ops, where a whole team of operatives would have scooped him up and cuddled him until he smelled so much like a Dom he could pass for one if he quit slouching.

30 minutes later John is still under and only he, Dr. Weir, and Rodney, are left on the city. John doesn’t think Dr. Weir has even noticed he’s under. He knows that the way she’s been domming him after missions is professional, not personal, but it still hurts. He wishes he had a friend here to bring him up.

3 hours later John is still under and Rodney has ordered him to shut up “because he doesn’t have anything remotely relevant to say” and to “stop messing with his gun, you’d think even one of you useless airheads would know you can’t just shoot a hurricane”, and the Genii have killed Johnson and Ackerly. John misses his helicopter.

4 hours later John is still under and a Genii named Kolya has Rodney and Dr. Weir. He’s turned off his comms because Rodney keeps giving him strategically inadvisable orders and the disobedience is starting to make him drop sick. He’s killed 12 Genii with his knives, smoke grenades, and a makeshift Taser he rigged from duck tape and the crystals from a door control panel. He can’t touch the gun strapped to his thigh without a surge of stomach acid rising in his throat. John misses the Big Air Force, where there were limits on what a Dom could order him to do while he was under.

4 and a half hours later John is still under and he has a knife wound and a bullet crease scoring across either side of his ribs and Sora is a bloody smear beneath a jumper she never saw coming. John has stolen Dr. Weir away and stashed her unconscious form in a cloaked jumper. Rodney screamed so loud when Kolya put that cut on his arm. Sixty more Genii have piled through the gate. John is so tired and overwhelmed he wants to cry.

5 hours later John is not under because he has made himself well and truly drop sick disobeying Rodney’s orders. Rodney is tearful and trembling, but safe in the cloaked jumper with Dr. Weir. Kolya has 3 neat bullet holes punched into his skull and John’s t-shirt stinks of sweat, blood, and vomit. There is a pile of bodies John gunned down in the center of the control room. More are scattered around the entrances to the room where he picked them off as they tried to reenter. At least twenty fried when the storm struck. John is pale and sweaty and his hands are shaking. But his city is safe.

8 hours later John, Rodney, and Dr. Weir are being fussed over in the infirmary. Everyone is back in the city. Lieutenant Ford had been sick when he’d helped move the bodies away from the gate so the civillians and Athosian children didn’t have to see what carnage John had wrought. Teyla is looking at him with new eyes. So are his marines. They’ve finally realized that just because John can’t fight hand-to-hand well, doesn’t mean he can’t kill better than all of them. McKay doesn’t see why John didn’t just shoot Kolya in the first place. John won’t make the mistake of standing too close to McKay again. John misses Holland.


	2. John

(One Month Later)

“Bates! Sergeant Bates!” An insistent thumping accompanied the shouting at the doorway to the marines’ barracks. Bates paused a moment among the rustling and whispers of his men settling in for the night after a long firefight and rubbed the bridge of his nose _–what could possibly have gone wrong now?_ – before striding confidently through the mishmash of bodies draped unceremoniously across the floor and yanking open the door. The moment it swung open Dr. Weir was talking again: “I just can’t deal with this tonight. He’s not usually so high maintenance, but it’s been three hours and I just can’t get him to _settle._ Could you try putting him with the rest of the military subs? Just for the night?”

            To be fair the frizzy strands of hair escaping Dr. Weir’s usually more sedate style and her frazzled expression would normally be cause enough for Bates’ surprise, but the true shock was Sheppard. The Major was still, more than 5 hours since they had all stumbled through the gate, caked in dust and splattered with blood, in full gear. His smirk and insouciant slouch had completely evaporated to be replaced with strictly correct posture and a thousand yard stare. Bates had developed a grudging respect for the man over the past few months, and, more importantly, if his mama ever got wind that he had left a sub in any kind of distress after a firefight, she’d have tanned his hide. “Of course Dr. Weir. No problem at all.”

            “Oh thank God,” she responded, “normally I just tie him up and leave him in the corner for half an hour or so until he stops twitching, but a few hard smacks usually have him settled right down if ropes alone won’t do the trick. Tonight, he’s just ramping up the tension no matter what I do.” With that parting line she shoved the Major into Bates’ arms, whirled around, and promptly fled down the corridor.     - _So she’s just going to dump the sub off with someone else, like a dog? No briefing? No do’s and don’ts?-_ Bates pulled the Major into the barracks, set him back on his feet, and ran an assessing eye over him. The Major straightened to his full height, every muscle pulled taught as a wire, and stared right over the top of Bates’ head. It was with a start that Bates recognized the breathing pattern Major Sheppard was following; he hadn’t heard that since SERE training. – _Maybe she doesn’t know the don’ts-_

            “Major Sheppard, what do you need to go under tonight?” Bates asked. The Major’s eyes flicked to meet Bates’ own before jerking away again. He licked his lips nervously before replying with a faint note of desperation “Dr. Weir doesn’t require me to go under. Just ‘settle down’, she says.”   “Humph. In my experience subs in a combat zone need to go under regularly to avoid drops. And the black ops ones never do either while getting tied up and smacked around.” Bates stated sternly. “Tell me what you need before I start guessing.” John had gone from actively leaning away from Bates to merely hesitant when he started talking about black ops subs, but had blanched violently when he mentioned guessing, clearly taking the order as a threat. – _Jesus, who the hell worked him over?-_ Bates sighed and rubbed a hand over his face, “What would you be doing for cool down if you were on your own?”

            John relaxed almost imperceptibly, though his gaze was still wary- _Finally, that’s it-_ “Eat.” Sheppard stated with a firmness that told Bates he hadn’t had anything recently, let alone since the end of the mission, “Clean my gear. Shower. Sleep… preferably in that order.” Bates nodded thoughtfully – _not a bad list for any soldier-_ before asking, “and what can your Dom do for you tonight?” Sheppard rubs the back of his neck uncomfortably and glances wildly around as he searches with that same note of desperation for an answer that will satisfy Bates. His gaze alights on the tangled mess of marines wrapped in blankets and veritably besieged by pillows on the floor. “I could sleep in the pile?” John suggests with tentative hope.

            _-It’s like pulling teeth-_ “You could."Bates acknowledges with a raised eyebrow. "I don’t see how your Dom can help you with that.”  John winces and bounces agitatedly on his toes. “The – my – Dom could sleep in the pile, too?” he tries.

            Bates pinches the bridge of his nose tightly. _–Progress. You are making progress.-_ Jim Harrison rises from the center of the room and limps over. Five hours ago Jim had been hanging precariously off the Major’s slim shoulders with a dislocated knee when Sheppard had charged through the gate in a hail of enemy fire and crashed to his own knees under Harrison’s massive weight. How Sheppard had gotten Harrison out of that cell- well, Bates hasn’t asked yet. Harrison offers the Major a big smile and raises a hand carefully, holding it a few inches from the side of Sheppard’s face. “Food sounds like a good place to start.” Harrison rumbles. He continues with an exaggerated wink, “I figure I owe a nice sub like you some serious pampering after you carried me outta there like a princess.” Sheppard’s eyes flicker cautiously up to gauge Harisson’s intent, jerk over to assess Bates’ reaction to the interruption, and dart quickly away again. He leans forward just enough to press his temple against Harisson’s palm. “Heavy princess” Sheppard comments, still cautious, but with just a touch of teasing in his tone. Jim lets loose a belly laugh that shakes his entire body and runs his hand through the Major’s ridiculous, non-regulation hair. “We’re good here, right Sarge?” questions Harrison. Bates gives a decisive nod and waves them over to a table in the corner.

 

            Bates continues to check up on Sheppard as he makes his rounds and settles his marines. Jim, taking blatant advantage of both his rank and injured knee, volunteers the younger Doms to fetch him gun oil, a polishing cloth, a pair of MREs, a clean pair of boxers and a towel. He orders a couple of them to drag the gargantuan, fluorescent purple beanbag out into the common room on the grounds that he needs to elevate his feet. Sheppard, for his part, industriously cleans his gun and multiple knives _-when did the fucking Chair Force start carrying all those?-_ and gradually scoots closer and closer to Harisson. By the time Sheppard is scarfing down the pair of MREs he’s pressed up against Jim’s side and tucked neatly under one of the big man’s arms. Bates is just commandeering his own beanbag when Jim guides the Major into the showers with a hand on the back of his neck. Bates can’t help but admire the way Harrison has managed to settle the room full of young Dominants. Seeing their CO squirm and mumble like a PSA about abused subs was unsettling and Harisson has managed to strike just the right tone in maneuvering them all to take a turn caring for him.

            5 minutes later Harrison is calling Markham and Stackhouse over to the table to come stitch up the Major. Apparently some of his cuts are still bleeding. Harisson has taken a seat on the edge of the table and pulled the Major up to straddle the thigh of his uninjured leg while Markham and Stackhouse work. Bates props himself up to see better. Sheppard is shirtless and bruises and ribs stand out almost equally. His limbs are scraped and cut, and Bates can see rope marks on Sheppard’s wrists that are fresh enough they can only have come from Weir. _–Maybe a PSA about abused subs wasn’t so far off.-_ Just as Sheppard starts to bite his lip anxiously Harisson wraps a thick forearm around Sheppard’s waist and starts to rub soothing circles just under the curve of his ribs. The Major settles back against Harisson’s chest, but he still looks uncomfortably exposed. When Sheppard’s cuts are all stitched up and his scrapes have all been cleaned out Jim strips his own shirt off and pulls it over the Major’s head. Their tough-as-nails CO looks comically small in the oversized t-shirt as Jim leads him over to the purple beanbag placed in the center of the room.

            The two of them get settled, with Sheppard curled up in Jim’s lap, with perfect timing. Lieutenant Ford and the rest of the few subs and switches on the military side of the expedition poor in with the smell of Athosian cookies and triumphant smiles. They pile in and distribute their loot with unsubtle, wide-eyed glances at the Major. Ford grins and heads straight over to offer three of the baked treats to Sheppard, but the Major curls up tighter and shakes his head.

“C’mon, they’re good,” Ford coaxes. Sheppard, blushing furiously now and looking faintly sick, mutters “Can’t. Orders. I haveta earn’m.” Jim’s face, safely out of Sheppard line of sight, goes suddenly thunderous and Bates, having seen just how thin Sheppard is not ten minutes prior, finds himself feeling just as furious. “Well,” Jim drawls in a soothing tone that completely belies the rage on his face, “I’m your Dom tonight, and I say that rescuing heavy princesses definitely earns you cookies.”

Ford, who has a much better poker face than Bates had thought, nods rapidly as if this is unimpeachable justification and proffers the sweets again. John- Bates can’t see that childish eagerness on his face and call him anything else- peeks suspiciously over Jim’s shoulder at the door as if someone will storm in and take the food away from him, slowly accepts the cookies with a still deeper blush, and curls back down into Harisson’s lap to savor his feast. Jim nods approvingly at Ford, who beams in response and heads off to find himself somewhere to sit.

            Markham and Stackhouse start up a movie and one by one they all drop off. Except for Bates. He lays in the dark and wonders who was there for the Major after that bug nearly killed him. After those villagers on PX4-839 tied him to a stake in their equivalent of a town square and set him on fire. After the storm where the Major left 74 Genii dead in their halls. He thinks of John tied up in the corner of Weir’s office getting “a few hard smacks” when he can’t hold still, getting told he hasn’t _earned_ the right to one of the few treats they can manage, stranded out here. Bates thinks he’ll go talk to Dr. Weir in the morning. Explain that interacting with their CO on this level is good for the men. That the Major should decompress with them instead.


	3. John & Steve

[John]

            When Dillon Everett comes marching through the stargate he feels like an action hero straight from the silver screen. He’s leading marines into the field to do what marines do best. Blow stuff up and handle shit. Everett knows exactly what’s gone wrong with this base: the leadership. They’ve got a civilian diplomat and a Zoomie sub making decisions in a warzone and it shows. While his marines pile in behind him Weir, the Zoomie, and half a dozen civilians and military personnel are pouring into the gate room with wide eyes. Weir tries to maintain control of the base, but Dillon cuts her off handedly. He snaps his fingers at the Zoomie sub and points sharply at his heel as he strides up the steps of the gate room. The sub freezes for a moment, something in his eyes that Dillon can’t quite read, but after issuing a few orders (“Ford, you and Bates will join us in the command center, get Markham and Stackhouse to sort out our reinforcements.”) he falls into line readily enough.

[Steve]

            Steve lies on his back staring up at the ceiling while Danny’s words repeat over and over in his head. It’s not that the words themselves were hurtful, or even intended to be. But Steve isn’t a kid anymore, and being mistaken for a Dom stopped being funny about a week after he presented when he started getting in trouble for going into the ‘wrong’ locker room. And Danny, well, Danny may be a detective, but he’s worked half a dozen cases with Steve now and he still won’t shut up about how bad Steve’s manners are. About how Steve needs to stop being so aggressive because aggressive Doms scare subs and children. Never mind that all the kids they’ve run into reacted to Steve just fine. Most children find a sub’s scent soothing, after all. Danny doesn’t realize that Steve always smells like sub because he _is_ one, he just thinks Steve is getting laid on the regular.

Steve knows he could clear things up with a handful of words, but that doesn’t make them any easier to say. It’s _embarrassing_ to admit people have been mistaking your dynamic for weeks. At first Steve didn’t even notice, too wrapped up in the cases, putting the way Danny treated him down to his _haole_ status. When he actually started paying attention to the content of Danny’s lectures (about two weeks in) realizing Danny still thought he was a Dom was a shock. And if he did manage to get an explanation out, Steve isn’t sure if Danny would treat him differently because of it. Or even if Steve _wants_ Danny to treat him differently. Being continually challenged by a Dom who doesn’t know the meaning of personal space keeps Steve on a hair trigger, which is stressful just because he isn’t used to maintaining this level of awareness outside of a combat zone. Steve really wishes Danny would knock; if he were safe at home Steve would be handling this so much better. On the other hand, Steve isn’t a Victorian era sub; he doesn’t need Doms making allowances for his _delicate constitution_.

Steve squirms uncomfortably and rolls over. He hasn’t gone under since Freddy died four months ago, and the sudden deficit of even casual touching now that he’s not on active duty is making him edgy. It’s likely that Kono thinks he’s a switch, and considering John McGarrett’s reaction to Steve’s presentation, if Chin knows in the first place, he’s not going to say a word. The only person who treats him like a regular sub is Kamekona, who ruffles his hair and rubs his thumb along Steve’s cheekbone when Steve pays, and if Steve eats any more garlic butter shrimp he’s going to start rolling instead of walking. He groans and tries massaging the back of his own neck, but the tension isn’t going anywhere without a Dom to take it away.

He sighs, rolls himself up in enough blankets that it’s almost like being held, and forces himself to sleep. Tomorrow is Saturday and he’s going to go help the Kapu rebuild their packhouse. Kawika is at least temporarily approving of 5-0 for tracking down the arsonist who’d been burning down packhouses across the island, and Steve respects Kawika as an alpha enough that he really wants to keep that good will flowing.

[John]

When Bates and Ford enter the command room Everett has Sheppard pinned to the table. Dillon grinds Zoomie’s face against the strange acrylic the Ancients are so fond of, “A little respect,” he hisses in the sub’s ear, and then hauls him up to his feet roughly before releasing him. Sheppard spins sharply to face Dillon, but the sub is already backing off, two steps away and still going. His eyes are wary, and he doesn’t say a word, or even twitch beyond licking a trace of blood off his lower lip as Dillon’s officers crowd into the room behind him. Dillon expects Bates and Ford to distance themselves from their sorry excuse for a CO, expects at least a touch of satisfaction at seeing the sub put in his place, but when the room settles out the two are flanking Sheppard. He supposes it’s a testament to marine loyalty, unfortunately misdirected after so long cut off from home. Bates’ face is wooden, and Ford looks uneasy.

“Right. I want this city locked down and prepared for siege. We have four days before the Daedalus arrives. I need all civilians evacuated to the alpha site. Sergeant Bates, how long will that take?” Everett demands. Bates’ eyes flick over to Sheppard, and sure enough, it’s the Zoomie who answers.

“That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you. Our alpha site’s been compromised.” Sheppard’s eyes hold a burning intensity that can’t match the speed with which he speaks. He’s rushing, trying, for the third time Dillon realizes with a hint of chagrin, to get the information out before he’s cut off again. “We have thirty-six hours before three hive ships are in range of Atlantis and over 200 civilians and refugees and no alpha site. We might have to enact the scatter protocol. We’ve got one nuke ready, and another in the making, but if we can’t take out two birds with one stone we’re screwed. The city is meant to be secured-“

“Stop.” Everett’s voice is a whip crack that cuts Sheppard off immediately. “What do mean by compromised? Is there a chance we can clear out the problem before the Wraith arrive?”

“No,” Sheppard looks relieved, and a touch disbelieving, like he didn’t expect Everett to listen to him. Dillon swallows down a touch of shame. “It’s a weather issue. Turns out the alpha site has a volcano season, makes the air unbreathable and the debarkation area is surrounded by sulfurous geysers.”

“And you say you’ve got nukes?” Everett’s second, Major Tomlinson, asks.

Sheppard nods jerkily, “Two, one’s finished, McKay and Zelenka are working on the other, but we don’t have enough fissionable material for a third.”

Everett frowns and rocks back on his heels to think. They’re outnumbered, outgunned even though they’ve already gone fucking _nuclear_ on these bastards, and they’ve got less than two days to figure out how to protect a civilian population equal or greater than their military contingent. “Well, we brought rail guns. Some Asgard cloaking generators, but if they already know the planet is here that’s moot. And machine guns. No nukes. Seems to me we’ll just have to take out two hives and hold out under siege until the Daedalus arrives.”

Sheppard winces, “Without that ZPM we can’t raise the shield. That means the hive ship can just blow us out of the water- but they won’t do that!” Sheppard’s eyes are wide with realization. “They want Earth, so they’ll need prisoners, if not Atlantis itself. We’ll take out as many darts as we can in the air, but we don’t have enough drones to stop them all. They can land almost anywhere in the city and start making their way to the control room. We’ll be fighting a running urban battle and even if we hold out for the Daedalus, raising the shield at that point will just trap us with the Wraith. Right next to the only stargate in the Pegasus galaxy that can dial Earth.” _-That’s…terrifying.-_ “Eventually they’ll get the address out of someone. _God,_ what I wouldn’t give for another hurricane.”

Everett’s marines gave the Major a series of funny looks, but Dillon watches Ford and Bates nod as if that was a perfectly reasonable thing to wish for. “…You want a hurricane?” he finally asked.

Sheppard nods absently as he brings up a holographic display of Atlantis’ solar system, “Yeah, we used the lightning to power the shield last time. Double bonus is that we conducted electricity through the halls and fried these guys who were invading in the process.” Everett’s eyebrows shoot up as he recalls _that_ series of AARs. As he remembers it, there was a lot less ‘we’ and ‘lightning’ and a lot more ‘Sheppard’ and ‘sniping’. A lot being 23 fried out of 74. Everett gives the Major another once over, his gaze scanning slowly from Sheppard’s untied boots to the tips of his spiky hair. The sub is thin, but wiry, with scarred hands a casual slouch that hides the utter _stillness_ he holds himself with and on second thought reminds Everett more of a lazing predator than the prey animals he associates with most submissives. _–Dillon you may have severely underestimated that man.-_

Dillon is leaning forward with the rest of his officers to examine the hive ships marked on the hologram when Sergeant Bates lets out a curse. “Sir, 36 hours from now will be a dark day.”

“Shit.” Ford mutters. “That’s going to cut our sight lines.”

Dillon slaps a hand on the table, “Dark day?”

“Yes sir,” Ford answers, “the moon is going to block the city for 12 hours. We won’t be able to see the hive ship’s final approach.”

Sheppard looks thoughtful rather than worried by this development, then he grins like a shark. “You’re thinking with your feet on the ground, marine. What have I told you?”

“That I have air support…which means we can effectively see around the moon…umm, don’t fight the unexpected, use it before your enemy does…so, we can hide the jumpers behind the moon for a surprise attack, or ambush the darts coming for Atlantis?” Sheppard slings an arm around the Lieutenant’s shoulders and tugs him closer to the hologram. He types a series of commands into the computer and zooms in on the planet and moon.

“Better, but still inside the box, Lieutenant. That moon is the only ‘terrain’ we’ll have in the space side of this battle. We can use it to hide, but the Colonel brought us rail guns, which will work better if they don’t have to fight planetary levels of gravity. We can wait longer to blow the hive ships so they’ll have to be closer together, because the moon will shield us from the debris. We could blow the moon ourselves to use as shrapnel. If we blow it early, we can create our own asteroid belt, to make an obstacle course between us and the darts.”

“…That’s a lot of options sir. Can we really blow up the moon, though?”

“Maybe not, I don’t think we have enough time left to build a bomb that big.”

 _-Okay, you definitely underestimated that man. He’s crazy. But crazy in that he suggests the unthinkable, not the impossible.-_ Major Tomlinson is staring at Sheppard and mouthing ‘blow up the moon’ in disbelief.

Sheppard jerks suddenly and his eyes snap up to lock onto Dillon’s. “Sir, did you say that we wouldn’t use the Asgard cloaks because the Wraith already know the _planet_ is here? As in, they could cloak the whole thing?”

“That’s right.” Dillon doesn’t see where Sheppard is going with this, but he doesn’t see how he’s supposed to predict someone who would blow up the moon to use as shrapnel either. “But since they already know we’re here-“

“They know the _planet_ is here, they don’t know about the _moon_.” Sheppard is grinning viciously, “We’re not going to need another nuke, we just need to cloak the moon and maneuver a hive ship in front of it.”

[Steve]

Things had started out a bit awkward when McGarrett had just shown up with a toolbox, but throughout the day the pack had slowly started to relax around him. He hadn’t offered blatant challenge to any of Kawika’s Doms, not even tossing a few punches when Yuo had pulled him into a headlock and scrubbed at his hair. The SEAL had just smiled fit to burst and clung to Yuo’s elbow like he, at least unconsciously, didn’t want him to let go. After that the rest of the pack had loosened up enough to tap his arm to get McGarrett’s attention, to laugh and thump him on the back when he cracked stupid jokes. Kawika knows that McGarrett hasn’t been in the reserves long, no more than a couple of months, and he thinks the other Dom is probably a bit touch starved from the way he leans into every bit of contact offered. It’s some what worrying because 5-0 runs around with guns, shooting at drug dealers and murderers and human traffickers, and has a great track record, but any alpha can tell they’re a recipe for disaster if they can’t even take care of their own.

Now, Kawika is wondering where the easy going, confidant Dom of an hour ago has gone, and when he was replaced with this ill-mannered, bullying, insecure asshole. It takes a real shitstain to play along with a pack for hours and then turn around and offer challenge to their one of their Elders. To his credit, Mahao doesn’t seem at all disconcerted by McGarrett towering over him and staring him unerringly in the eyes, but that doesn’t mean Kawika has to put up with it. He pulls on the pack, hard. Kawika is summoning up every bit of dominance he can; he has a feeling he’ll need it just to make an impression on a Dom like McGarrett. Kawika cracks his neck to one side and then the other before beginning to stride up behind McGarrett as stealthily as he can manage. The whole pack is watching him now, can feel him drawing on them for additional authority, but McGarrett is still too wrapped up in his conversation or dominance game or whatever it is going on between him and Mahao to notice. By the time Kawika draws even with McGarrett he’s holding back so much force from the pack he can barely stop himself from shaking with it.

“McGarrett,” he calls in a voice a steady as iron, the one that makes him sound like the alpha of a pack like the Kapu. Kawika plants a hand on the back of McGarrett’s neck and squeezes, at the same time letting all the force stored up within him hit McGarrett at once. He’s expecting the other Dom to rock back, maybe stumble a little bit. He’s hoping McGarrett at least has the grace to look ashamed. Instead, McGarrett’s pupils blow wide open and his knees buckle like they were never meant to hold him up in the first place. He hits the ground hard and wavers, balance unsteady. He’s reaching for Kawika’s jeans to hold himself up, but Kawika is so shocked that he’s yanked his hand away and is backing off fast, pulling the dominance away from McGarrett, back under his skin where it usually lurks until he needs it. _–Fucking hell, he’s a sub! How did I miss that?!-_ The shock of being engulfed and immediately dumped by the dominant force of the entire Kapu pack has McGarrett drop sick in seconds. He’s fallen forwards onto his hands and, with his face gone shock white and his torso heaving, is obviously struggling not to hurl. He loses the battle and vomit splatters across the dirt.

“Shit! I’m sorry, boy. I didn’t realize.” Kawika apologizes as he advances again, but Steve isn’t waiting for him to get close, scrambling backwards away from the alpha. Yuo is crouching behind McGarrett, pulling him onto his lap, and Kawika sits down right on top of the both of them, tucking Steve’s face into his shoulder and running a soothing hand down Steve’s back. More of his betas are gathering around them and McGarrett shakes under their collective hands as they try to soothe away the hurt they’ve dealt. Steve thinks if he didn’t feel like utter crud he’d be enjoying this. As it is, he’s soaking up the attention like a sponge. It takes nearly ten full minutes for Steve’s shakes to subside and then Kawika’s hand returns the back of his neck and Steve collapses into the alpha as much as he can while held by so many people.

He knows he should shove them off. Force his way to his feet and laugh it off _\- whoops! Actually a sub here, guys! You thought I was a Dom? So funny!-_ but for all his training and usual macho bluster they’ve managed to strike where it hurts. He may have his body back under control, but Steve is still reeling. Everything feels disjointed and slightly unreal and he can’t focus long enough to put together a sentence. His world is centered on the sick feeling in his stomach and the hands holding him together. When Kawika starts to pull back Steve can’t stop himself from letting out a needy whine. _–Some big tough SEAL you are. Pride of the Navy, right here.-_ Before he even manages to choke off the sound the betas clustered around him are rubbing circles into his skin.

Steve spends the rest of the evening passed from one set of dominant hands to another. He eventually falls asleep cradled between two Doms twice his size. He doesn’t think to leave the next morning and spends all of Sunday once again working on the pack house. By the time the sun sets he’s theirs. He goes under smooth as butter when Kawika brushes a hand against his face. They strip him down and when Kawika bends him over in front of the fire he comes twice on the alpha’s dick without ever touching himself. When he wakes again Monday morning for work he smells so strongly of the Kapu that it’ll be days before his own sub scent works through.


	4. Steve & John

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING!!!!: This chapter contains non-con due to miscommunication and lack of negotiation, though the scene is stopped when a safe word is used. Real-World BDSM is VERY different from the way it is portrayed in this 'verse, and intrinsic parts of this 'verse are not safe, sane, or consensual.

[Steve]

It’s Monday, and for the first time, Steve isn’t early. Danny, Chin, and Kono give him a series of raised eyebrows when he rushes in, freshly showered, loose limbed, for once looking like he’s slept, and positively reeking of unfamiliar Doms.

“Break up with your sub, McGarrett? I think this is the first time you’ve gone without long enough to actually smell like a Dom since we met.” Danny snarks. His tone is teasing, but Steve stiffens harshly, spine jerking straight, throwing his shoulders back. Chin twitches and gets ready to jump in; he’s been waiting for a dominance contest to blow up between Danny and Steve for weeks.

“Maybe I never smell like a Dom because I’m _not a Dom_ , Danny. Ever think of that?” Steve’s voice is painstakingly even, but his frame nearly vibrates with tension.

Danny just about falls off his stool laughing, “Funny McGarrett…not a Dom, my ass…” Steve flushes and decides to drop the subject.

“Seriously though boss, you smell like at least three different Doms right now?” Kono prods. She looks a little worried, like she thinks he got drunk rolled or something.

Danny is pushing his way into Steve’s space, poking him in the belly the way he knows Steve hates, “This your way of telling us you switch, like two percent of the time? Or you been experimenting?” Danny’s eyebrows give and obscene waggle.

“No. I joined a pack.” The revelation is met with silence. Steve thinks back to Danny’s insistence that Steve’s a Dom and wonders if they had expected Steve to form a pack around 5-0… they even had a suitable name.

He’s wrong though; Danny shoots him a recriminating look and cuts in sharply, “Well, I do always tell you you’re an animal.” And that- Steve wasn’t expecting that.

“Your _haole_ is showing, Danny. In Hawaii a pack is just another kind of _ohana_.” And Steve is so thankful for Chin.

Steve clears his throat. “We’ve got a case.”

[John]

It’s been a week and a half since the Daedalus had arrived to save their bacon only to find that the only person who needed saving was John. Not that he’s not thankful they yanked him off the hive ship before it exploded. They’d spent four days killing the Wraith who’d managed to land in the city. Then they’d undertaken the monumental task of hunting down all those that had managed to land on the continent. The Athosians are being ferried over at this very moment and John is standing before the stargate, ready to deliver the injured home and debrief.

He doesn’t think they’ll let him come back. He’s a sub with a black mark for defying orders who went on to shoot his commanding officer. He’s lost a full fifth of the men he was responsible for. Colonel Everett may be impressed with his skills after seeing him take out Wraith in Atlantis’ hallways with a busted arm, but that won’t stop him from reporting John for dynamic distress after he’d freaked out and safe worded in front of the entire officer contingent.

(1 week ago)

Now that the initial battles were over and the city had been cleared Colonel Everett had separated out the enlisted and officers for cool down. Ford was cuddled up in Major Tomlinson’s lap, nursing his mangled right arm. When Major Sheppard had finally slunk in, bruised and battered by the Wraith, Colonel Everett had immediately snatched him up and hauled Sheppard across the room. The big marine had bent Sheppard over the table in the middle of the room, cuffed Sheppard’s hands behind his back, kicked his feet apart and, pressing up against the Major’s back, gone for his belt buckle. Ford had only seen this kind of thing a few times at the SGC, where a sub or switch who’d performed exceptionally was hauled into the center of a cool down and fucked stupid in reward. He’s jealous, but he can’t deny that the Major deserves it after riding a pair of nukes, hijacking a hive ship, and turning around and immediately hunting down the Wraith who’d invaded the city like they were dogs instead of man-eaters.

The Colonel has Sheppard’s pants around his knees now, but he’s left his boxers up. Everett’s hands are running over the Major’s little ass, squeezing and rubbing before delivering a sharp smack. Sheppard jerks and shivers under the Colonel. Ford licks his lips and reaches for his cock. He hopes Tomlinson will let him join in once the Colonel has Sheppard warmed up, Ford’s been waiting for a chance to kiss Sheppard properly for months, but when Sheppard joins the marines for cool down he never goes into the back room. Ford supposes even a commander as laid back as Sheppard has some reservations about what he’ll do with the enlisted men. Everett chuckles low and deep in his throat and sets about giving him a proper spanking. It isn’t long before Sheppard has completely lost the Colonel’s rhythm, muscles quivering under his skin, body twitching and jerking randomly. Everett laughs again before sliding his thumb all the way down Sheppard’s spine, over the lip of his boxers, between his cheeks, until the digit is pressed firmly up against Sheppard’s hole. Ford doesn’t think there’s an officer in the room without a hand between their legs at this point, he squirms and starts rocking on Tomlinson’s thigh.

“What do you say, boy?” Everett asks low in Sheppard’s ear. Sheppard shivers. Fuck _yes_ ; Ford wants to hear him beg for it.

“W-w-what?” His voice is as shaky as his body and Ford bites back a moan.

Everett’s hand jerks back and lands a ringing crack against Sheppard’s ass. “That’s sir to you boy.” Apparently having decided Sheppard’s not close enough to the edge yet he yanks down Sheppard’s boxers and spanks him all over again, harder this time, the blows rocking Sheppard forward into the table’s edge. When Sheppard’s ass is glowing cherry red and a cessation of the blows does nothing to stop his shaking Everett lays his hand on the base of Sheppard’s spine and starts rubbing his thumb over Sheppard’s bared hole. Sheppard thrashes helplessly, but there’s not a damn thing he can do.

“Let’s try again, _boy_. What do you say to your _Dom_ , in the middle of _a scene_ , when you feel like _this_?” The tip of Everett’s thumb, slicked with nothing but Sheppard’s sweat, presses in on every stressed word. Sheppard’s kicking and wriggling intensifies.

“Uh…uh…r-r-red? Red _Sir_ , red _Sir_. Sorry, sorry, I’m sorry. Red _please_? Uh, red please Sir? Redredred, _please_ Sir, red please?” Colonel Everett freezes above him and Ford had wanted to hear him beg, but this is just sick. Sheppard, apparently deciding the silence means Everett is angry with him, starts to babble fearfully, “Sorry, sorrysorry, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it, I’m sorry, please, I’m sorry-“

“Hush boy, I heard you the first time. It’s done.” Everett cuts him off mercifully. He draws Sheppard’s boxers and pants back up and buckles his belt back on. Major Tomlinson half carries Ford over to stroke his good hand through Sheppard’s hair while Everett takes care of the cuffs. When Everett pulls the metal off Sheppard’s wrists come away bloody and half the tension drains out of him. He turns Sheppard in his arms and holds him close while Sheppard tries fruitlessly to refrain from shaking.

“Lieutenant, how would this normally be handled on Atlantis?” The Colonel’s voice is calm and slow, and it does a lot to reassure both Ford and Sheppard.

 

“Uh…Normally?” Ford starts hesitantly. For a moment Dillon is afraid the young switch will tell him that Sheppard doesn’t normally safe word, which is hopefully true, but unhelpful. “Normally, Major Sheppard would cool down by joining the rest of the marines to sleep in the pile. If he were…unusually stressed…he would sub for Sargent Harrison, Sir.”  Dillon nods slowly; he can see how being the center of a Dom like Dillon’s attention could be a lot to handle for a sub that usually cooled down by just sleeping near his men. He rocks Sheppard a little and rubs circles into his back.

            “Well, let’s go pay Sargent Harrison a visit.”

(Present)

            Jack waits for the Atlantis expedition on the other side of the gate. Their debarkation is a flurry of movement, with medics appearing to steal the stretcher bound away and hustle those still upright off to the infirmary. The Major with the ATA gene, Sheppard, limps through covered in ugly purple bruising with a sling around his right arm. Dillon’s report indicated that it had taken three days for someone to drag Sheppard into the infirmary and get the x-ray that proved it broken. After the Major had safe worded out of a scene. Jack has been reported for dynamic distress before, and he knows it’s no picnic. Explaining to shrinks that being tied up doesn’t do it for you anymore because the Taliban beat if out of you shouldn’t be that difficult, it should be obvious. Jack sidles up beside Sheppard and walks him to the infirmary. Sheppard had been in spec. Ops for a long time, Antarctica wasn’t the first time he’d flown Jack out of a jam.

 

            Sheppard clears medical, is immediately shunted over to Jack and General Hammond for hours of debriefing, and is finally grabbed up by the shrink waiting to process him. Dr. Keller is a sweet faced young woman armed with a thick file and two burly SFs who settle in on either side of Sheppard. They lead him away and Jack knows they’re going to help, but he remembers what it’s like to be in that position, and he can’t help but worry.

            The next morning it’s Dr. Keller, not Sheppard, that they find in the debriefing room. She explains that Sheppard’s dynamic has departed drastically from his profile in the last year and that she recommends he be given leave with an alpha for a month. She’s willing to give Sheppard the chance to drop one phone call to a friend, but if an alpha doesn’t show up to take him in the next 12 hours, she’s bringing in Sheppard’s father. She asks Jack to be there when she breaks the news to him.

            The kid is chained to a chair securely enough that Jack wonders if Keller brought out the stuff they use for the Gao’uld. He’s got shadows under his eyes and the lighting of the office he’s being held in does his bruising no favors.

            “That can’t be good for his arm,” Jack remarks, for once serious. It’s one thing to see his soldiers come back through the gate having been mistreated, and quite another to see this mistreatment perpetuated by their doctors.

            “It’s important to make subs who have been through traumatic experiences feel secure,” Keller explains. Jack's eyebrows shoot up.

            “And what did Major Sheppard have to say about that…medical advice?”

            “He was reluctant, but as his doctor I deemed it beneficial.” Keller looks annoyed at the questioning. Jack examines the bruise forming on one of the SF’s jaw and the split on the other’s knuckles. _–‘Reluctant’, what interesting phrasing-_

            “Is Major Sheppard a danger to himself or others?”

            “That’s completely irrel-“

            Jack’s mild tone drops away to be replaced by icy venom, “ _Is Major Sheppard a danger to himself or others?”_

            Keller shakes her head, obviously flustered. The SFs release him at a look from Jack. Sheppard just stretches out and lounges in the chair, like he’s got all the time in the world. That changes once Keller has explained her treatment plan.

            “Look, I haven’t seen my father in decades. There’s no reason to call him in. And why does it have to be an alpha? Can’t I just call up a dominant friend?”

            “It has to be an alpha because you have a history of discipline problems. If you are unable to find an alpha willing to handle you, I’m calling in your father.” The longer this goes on the less confident Jack feels about this treatment plan. He puts his own cellphone on the table between them so he’ll be able to call back whomever Sheppard calls.

            “Why don’t you make a few calls, kid.”

            “ _One_ phone call. We’re not going to sit around here all day letting your condition exacerbate so you can stall.” And Jack hates her a little bit for that. Does she think throwing the kid at a practical stranger is better than waiting for someone who knows him? “You have twelve hours and then I’m calling it.”

            The kid is milk white and slouching lower than ever in a failed effort to hide obvious terror. He reaches for the phone and Keller snatches his wrist, “On speaker.” He can’t quite hide his flinch at her touch and shoots her a dirty look. He dials and sets the phone back on the table.

[Steve]

            The week had been…long. Chin and Kono had been sending him assessing and concerned looks, respectively. Danny had raised his usual sniping to an art form, especially once Steve had started smelling more like himself than the Kapu (“Wow, I can’t believe your sub is willing to deal with you smelling like a half dozen other Doms. Must be submissive in and out of the bedroom, huh buddy”). Steve had shown up at the packhouse aching from where the suspect had rammed him with a car, knocking him off the overpass and, luckily, onto the roof of a semi. Yuo had immediately reminded him of why having a pack was worth putting up with Danny’s increasingly inappropriate comments (“Urgh. Steven you reek of that sub. You need to reassure that poor thing, if he’s rubbing his scent into you every morning before work you’re obviously making him insecure”). The massive beta had taken one look at Steve’s stiff locomotion and pulled him down to the floor to work the soreness out of Steve’s muscles. Now, sprawled over Yuo’s chest with the beta’s hands working down his back, Steve thinks it would take a minor explosion to get him up. Every muscle in his body feels lax and too heavy to move. Kawika settles in beside them and runs a hand through Steve’s hair causing him to hum happily. Steve’s eyes drift shut and he goes completely limp and pliant. Then his phone rings. Steve groans grumpily into Yuo’s shirt before rolling off him to dig the phone out of his pocket.

            “McGarrett.” He answers.

            “Hi Smooth Dog, it’s Shep, and, uh, you’re on speaker.”

            “On speaker with who?” Steve frowns and pushes himself to his feet to pace.

            “My new CO, a shrink, and a pair of SFs. I…I need a favor.” John’s voice sounds thin and tight, stress leaking through his normally calm façade.

            “Sure buddy, you know I’ve got your back. Just tell me what you need.”

            “I kinda, uh, safe worded out? So, so, the shrink wants me to spend some time with an alpha. I was hoping you were still in contact with guys, maybe you could hook me up?” Steve nods, Shep had gone dark about a year back and nobody’d seen or heard a thing about him. If he needed to get back in touch with their little network Steve was a good place to start.

            “Yeah, alright. I think-,”

            A woman’s voice interjects sharply, “Major Sheppard, I was under the impression that you were going to call an alpha you knew would take you, not set yourself up with a stranger. If you plan on subverting your therapy like this I will have no choice but to contact your father directly.”

            Steve’s spine snaps straight and he shouts furiously into the phone, “You can’t do that to him! And he _is_ getting in contact with an alpha he knows will take him. Shep’s been off the grid for a while, he called me because I know who’s deployed right now and who’s come home. I’m Lieutenant Commander Steven McGarrett, his medical proxy, and I’m telling you that Major John Sheppard is under no circumstances to be released to his father.”

            The woman’s voice is incredibly smug on the other end of the line, “No Commander, you _were_ Sheppard’s medical proxy. Major Sheppard, like all the members of his current mission, was required to choose a medical proxy on base. Because his _current_ proxy is unavailable, it falls to me, as his doctor, to make these decisions on his behalf whilst he is unable.”

            “Then I’m changing my current proxy to McGarrett.” John throws in hurriedly.

            The woman, doctor, is dismissive; “You know you can’t make a decision like that until you’ve cleared your evals. You’re still exhibiting stress responses when restrained.”

            A man (the CO?) starts talking in a tone that makes Steve think of someone fingering the safety on a pistol, “Maybe, as acting medical proxy unfamiliar with Major Sheppard, you should listen to the medical proxy he _chose_ in the past.”

            Steve can feel the tension between the doc and the CO through the phone and he addresses John while they’re distracted, “Where are you?”

            “Cheyenne Mountain, in Colorado Springs. Steve, she’s only giving me twelve hours to get an alpha to pick me up.” John’s voice is shaky with terror. Steve thinks of the old scars on John’s wrists and back. If that woman hands Shep over to his father Steve will break him out. Steve’s teeth are bared harshly and he jerks a little when Kawika’s hand on the back of his neck arrests his pacing.

            “Your friend needs an alpha?” Steve nods. Kawika smiles at him wryly; “You know you have one of those, right?” Steve’s eyes go wide, that-that could work.

            “You’d have to pick him up in person. In Colorado.” Steve bites his lip, praying that isn’t a deal breaker.

            Kawika nods again, “I’ll pack a bag.” The alpha turns and exits the packhouse, matter settled. Steve sucks in a harsh breath and goes back to the phone.

            “John?”

            “Yeah?”

            “I got an alpha, we’ll be there to pick you up as soon as we get off the plane.” It’ll be a little over that time limit, stall ‘em.”

            “Okay.”

            Steve hangs up and gets moving.

[John]

            John does the math in his head. Taking in to account layovers, driving time, and however long it takes for Steve to get on a flight leaving Hawaii, McGarrett won’t arrive until at least 3 hours after Keller’s deadline. If John is lucky. If she won’t be talked down he has to hide. John takes a deep breath. _–Just stall-_ Keller has whipped around, distracted from her argument with O’Neill by John closing the flip phone.

            “Did he hang up on us?” she asks incredulously.

            “No. We finished our conversation. Steve has an alpha. They’re coming to pick me up.” John replies while keeping his breathing as even as he can.

            Dr. Keller musters her affronted dignity while O’Neill hides a grin behind his hand. “Well,” she flips her hair aggressively, “If they show up within the next eleven and a half hours I suppose you’re free to go. Until then you can continue exposure therapy with your restraints.”

            John nods once, evenly, as though he has no problem with Keller’s plan. Then he flips the table onto Keller and O’Neill, vaults the upended furniture, and rushes out of the room. He sprints down two corridors, ducks into a supply closet, and breaks into the vents. An alarm starts blaring through the halls, but John is already squirming his way up to the floor above. He may have only stayed on base for a couple of weeks before stepping through the gate, but he hasn’t forgotten a thing about the layout. As long as he stays on a floor with other people they can’t gas him.


End file.
